Author Archives: Keith West

Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Sets a High Bar for Quality

The latest issue of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly has been out for a while, and I’ve been meaning to get to it for a few weeks now.  I finally managed to carve out some time, and I’m glad I did.  This is one of the strongest issues I’ve seen from this publication, maybe the strongest.  The stories selected certainly set a high bar for quality.

There are three stories and two poems in this issue.  Here’s what you find:

The first story is “Dusts of War” from Ben Godby.  This is a morally murky tale that is more than what it first appears.  The story opens with a peddler coming to an idyllic town at the foothills of a mountain range on a dusty summer day.  There’s a war on, but for the most part the war hasn’t had a huge effect locally.  Some food shortages, some able-bodied young men marching away to fight, but no combat in the area.

At first it seems that the story is about a traveling peddler stopping in a sleepy, poor, but idyllic little village.  But there’s more to the peddler than appears.  He’s on a mission, a mission that’s related to the war.

Forgive me if I indulge in minor spoilers.  The peddler is there to find a man, a man he’ll know because another man in a red cloak will speak with him.  He’s given this information by a farmer who palms him a note and then isn’t seen again.  The problem arises when the red cloaked man finally arrives speaks with two men at once.  The peddler isn’t sure which man is the one he’s looking for.

There are some powerful scenes in this story and places where the prose borders on the lyrical.  But much of the power of the tale comes from what we aren’t told rather than what we are told.  What is the war about, and who is fighting?  Which side is the peddler on?  Is he operating behind enemy lines or is he working covertly behind his own?  Who is the man the peddler is looking for?  Why is he looking for him?  What is the significance of the man in the red cloak?

None of these questions are ever answered, and some are barely hinted at.  The result is a morally ambiguous scenario where the reader isn’t sure who to root for.  The peddler is initially presented as a sympathetic fellow, but as the story progresses, he does things that are increasingly questionable.

All in all, a fine example of the less is more school of fiction.

Following this one up is “Shadows and Hellfire“.  This is the third story author R. Michael Burns has had in HFQ featuring his samurai Hokage’.  In this particular tale, Hokage’ decides he’s tired of being haunted by the ghosts of those he’s killed with his sword Demon-Fang.  He decides to get rid of it, and the only way to do that is to take it back to Hell.  The problem is that no one has entered the realms of the dead and returned.  At least not alive. 

Hokage’ isn’t worried about that.  He’s at the point where death would be a relief.  The problem is that to get rid of the sword, assuming he actually can in the first place, is that there are others who would like to take it from him.

This was a solid piece of Japanese fantasy, and well worth reading.

The final story is from David Charlton, “Kingdom of Graves“.  A plague is sweeping across the land, and the half-orc Rakhar is making a decent living traveling around burying the dead.  At least it’s a decent living by his standards.  It keeps him in drink.

Rakhar is hire by a dwarf to hunt down a local lord who abandoned his daughter to the plague and fled.  The lord had caught the dwarf diddling his daughter, and the dwarf has a soft spot for her in his heart.  He wants revenge, not so much for himself as for her.  What he and Rakhar find turns out to be something out of their worst nightmares.

This one reminded me of Tolkien in the names of some of the elf-like beings called Lornael.  I’m not a big fan of the type of fantasy that mixes a large number of races together in imitation of Tolkien.  Most authors, even good ones, can’t pull it off the way Tolkien did.  Charlton does a better job of it than most, but it doesn’t seem to me that he’s trying to imitate Tolkien so much as follow his example.  There’s history and backstory throughout the tale that gives the milieu some depth, making it more than a paint by numbers piece of fiction. 

This one didn’t have an entirely happy ending, but neither was it a downer.  The balance of happy and sad, for lack of better terms, made the conclusion more satisfying.  I can see how Charlton might revisit his heroes.  They make an interesting pair and have series potential.

I don’t typically discuss the poetry in HFQ at any length, primarily because the poems tend to be rather short.  Rather than write a review longer than the piece itself (I’ll leave that for the lit-crit folks), I’ll just give my impressions.

First, “Yashub-Geb” by James Hutchings.  I especially liked this one.  The rhyme and meter worked well.  Good poetry doesn’t read like it was written by Dr. Suess.  (Don’t get me wrong, I love Dr. Seuss; I just don’t read him for his poetics.)  This was written in the style I first encountered in high school English class.  I’ve reviewed Hutchings before, and this poem only reaffirmed my opinion of him.

The second poem is Lorna Smithers‘ “The Bull of Conflict“.   Smithers runs a poetry blog, and this poem is even better constructed than the Hutchings poem.  It practically sings.  Not surprising since Smithers is into bardic poetry.

So, all in all, a mighty fine issue.  High quality fiction, high quality poetry.  Heroic Fantasy Quarterly is one of the top sources of sword and sorcery and adventure fiction out there.  Read this issue and see why.

A Taste of Sour Grapes

I’m gonna bitch now.  You’ve been warned.

I have a point to all this, but still, this is mostly going to be a sour grapes kind of post.  I thought I’d let you know in case you aren’t in the mood.

Sour grape the first:  Back in late December I download a review copy of a forthcoming fantasy novel from Net Galley.  This is an online clearing house where publishers post novels for reviewers.  Request of a book is not an automatic guarantee of receiving a copy.  Anyway, life happened (more than once), and I didn’t get to the book until Saturday.  For one thing, it was more of a doorstopper than I thought it would be. I waited until I thought I would have the time to get through without taking a month and wiping out my other review commitments.  I just did that with a shorter book, and let me tell you, it tended to kill a lot of the joy of the book.  This particular novel came out at the end of January, and I wanted to get the review up since my original plan was to post the review on the release date.  When tried to access the book, I received a message saying the lending period of the book had expired.

Excuse me?  What lending period?  I don’t recall anything about a lending period when I requested a review copy of the book.  If I had been provided a paper review copy, I don’t think I would have been asked to return it after a certain amount of time had passed.  And what if I hadn’t finished the book when the lending period ended?  I guess I would have been out of luck. 

Personally, I find this rather insulting.  The assumption seems to be that I might give the book to someone else who wouldn’t pay the publisher.  For the record:  I have never given away or copied or allowed to be copied an electronic review copy.  Nor have I done the same with any paper review copies, although in the interest of space limitations, I may clear some out once the books go out print.

This is a publisher I had intend to read more from.  I still intend to read this particular novel.  It looks quite interesting.  But I’ll be buying it in a second hand store.  The same way I’ll be buying all the other books I read from this particular publisher from now on.  Which probably won’t be many. 

Sour grape the second:  I got a coupon via email from B&N for 20% off (that’s an additional 20%, in addition to my member discount) last week and used it on Friday.  It was a special Valentine’s Day promotion.  Sunday morning I got another coupon, same thing as the first, an additional 20% off, only this was a President’s Day promotion.  Both coupons expired today.

There’s a publisher who prices ebooks as the same price as mass market paperbacks.  Now I don’t think a publisher should necessarily make their ebooks dirt cheap, but considering ebooks don’t involve certain costs that print books do such as printing, shipping, warehousing, and returns, I don’t think ebooks should be the same price as a paper copy.  A dollar or two less should be reasonable.

I decided to use this second coupon to buy a fantasy novel from this publisher which got a lot of buzz last year.  It’s the sort of thing that would be perfect to review here.  (I could have used the coupon on the novel I talked about in sour grape the first, but I’m serious about waiting for a second hand copy.) 

Anyway, when I got to the register, it seems that this coupon had already been used.  It was the same one I used on Friday.  Seems the Valentine’s promotion and the President’s Day promotion were one and the same.  It would have been nice if B&N had made that distinction. 

And not sent me the same coupon again after I’d already used it.  It shouldn’t be that hard to program a computer to check and see if a coupon has been used and not send a second one.  But there are a lot of things it shouldn’t be hard to get a computer to do that trad pub can’t seem to figure out.

I didn’t buy the book at Barnes and Noble, in case you’re wondering.  Might order it from Amazon, though.  If I don’t get it second hand, that is.

These are two examples of what I consider stupid decisions in the publishing and bookselling world.  When this kind of disrespect is shown to customers and reviewers, it’s hard for me to feel sorry for traditional publishing and chain bookstores. 

Thank God there are lot’s of good indie writers out there.

Ruminations

Gad, what a week.  We’re still trying to figure out if a student sent a stand-in to lab, or if he drove halfway across the state after a death in the family, returned for lab, and then drove back for the funeral.  Whoever showed up for lab was cheating big time.  And the student this person was claiming to be is in hot water.

Anyway, it’s turning into one of those years.  I’m managing to keep up with my deadlines at Amazing Stories, but it’s getting a little tight.  I think I can pull ahead over the next week.  Deadlines at work, on the other hand, not so much.

I’ve not been posting much because I’m trying to finish a story by tomorrow.  That’s the deadline for submissions.  Things should pick up here by early next week. 

Due to financial constraints and family politics, I won’t be attending ConDFW this weekend.  (I don’t wanna talk about it.)  The North Texas Irish Festival and Scarborough Renaissance Fair aren’t looking too promising, either.  (Ditto.)

For some reason, my thoughts keep drifting back to cons I attended in the 90s.  There seemed to be more commonality among folks.  We tended to enjoy many of the same books and shows.  There was a greater sense of community.  Now it’s like I don’t have a clue what people are talking about anymore.  I suspect my time constraints have tightened more than fandom has changed so that I’m not able to keep up with as many movies and shows.  Living in an area where things were only an hour or two away at most, rather than a minimum of five hours, made a difference, too.

Maybe I’m getting old and tired, but some of the fun and sense of wonder seem to be missing.  Probably nothing a good week’s sleep won’t cure.  Anyway, this is a glimpse of what’s been going on inside my head lately.  Hasn’t been a lot of fun.  Since misery loves company, I thought I’d share my life as a crotchety old geezer.

Now you kids get off my lawn.

UPDATE:  I finished the story and just sent it off.  It’s part of a S&S series I’m calling the Chronicles of Rodrik and Prince Balthar.  It’s the fourth one I’ve finished.  There are three more in various stages of completion.

This Femme is Quite Fatale

Femme
Bill Pronzini
Cemetery Dance
175 p.
trade hardcover $19.99
signed limited edition hardcover $50
deluxe traycased and lettered edition $175

One of my favorite subgenres, and probably the one I read the least since I started this blog, is that of the private eye.  And one of the top practitioners of the form is Bill Pronzini.  His Nameless Detective series has been going since the 70s, with new entries still being added.

The most recent is the novella Femme, published this past fall by Cemetery Dance along with a reprint of another Nameless novella, Kinsmen.  They were separate volumes, but Cemetery Dance had a preorder special.  I snatched them both up.  (The trade editions, but even without the signatures, they were a good buy and look great on the shelf.)

Both feature top notch covers by Glen Orbik; more on that shortly. Continue reading

Perils on Planet X Premieres

If you like Sword and Planet, and who doesn’t, then you’ll want to check out Perils on Planet X. It’s a weekly web comic written by Christopher Mills and drawn by Gene Gonzales.  The first page went live a little while ago.  This one looks like it’s going to be a great deal of fun, and I find the clean lines of the art especially appealing.  I mean the promo art shows not one but two lovely ladies with swords.  It’s got to be good.

Today’s post gives the setup, so I’ll let you read it there rather than recap it here.  But do check it out. 

I’ll close with best wishes to Mills and Gonzales for a successful run on this comic.

Blogging Northwest Smith: Black Thirst

“Black Thirst”
C. L. Moore

SPOILER ALERT – You’ve been warned.

“Black Thirst” is the second Northwest Smith story, published  in the April 1934 issue of Weird Tales shortly after “Shambleau”.  Upon rereading, I found this story lacked the power of its predecessor.  It may have been that I wasn’t able to get to the story until late at night, and therefore was fighting fatigue.

The story begins with Smith casing a warehouse along the waterfront of the Venusian city of Ednes one night when a woman walks by and asks him if he’d like to make a gold coin.  This isn’t any ordinary woman, but a Minga woman.

When the first settlers landed on the shore, they found a giant castle ruled by a being, apparently a man, called the Alendar.  He had a small entourage of the most beautiful women, which he began selling to the traders and settlers.

Over time, the Minga women, renowned for their exquisite beauty and chaste bodies, have been the prizes of kings, sultans, and chieftains throughout the solar system.  They are never allowed to walk the streets at night alone and unescorted.  But this one is.

She recognizes Smith, although they’ve never met, and raises her offer to one hundred gold coins.  To receive it, all he has to do is come to a particular gate at the Minga castle in one hour, give her name, and enter.

Other men have died for lesser offenses against the Alendar.

Smith decides to take her up on the offer.

This part of the story was as clear in my mind as the day I first read it.  What had faded were the events that followed.  I had a vague memory of what happened but could recall no details.

Upon entering the Minga castle, Smith enters a dark world where beauty is the most prized and carefully nurtured commodity.  And by nurtured, I mean bred.  Although the woman Vaudir, who entices him into the castle, is one of the most beautiful women Smith has ever seen, she pales in comparison to the others he sees.  Next to them she is plain and homely.

Smith also meets the Alendar, who isn’t a man even though he wears a man’s form.  The Alendar can control people with his thoughts, and he takes Smith captive.  He shows Smith women of such great beauty that it nearly drives Smith insane.

The Alendar is a type of psychic vampire that feeds on beauty, and he’s centuries old.  The women in his stable have been bred for one purpose, and one purpose only.  Food.  The Alendar drains them of their beauty and their life essence.  Only the least beautiful are sold as concubines and queens.

For most of those centuries, especially the most recent, the Alendar had fed on female beauty.  But now he wants a taste of something a little different, male beauty.  And Smith is intended to be the main course.  It’s only with the assistance of Vaudir, and the sacrifice of her life, that Smith manages to escape.

While to my mind not as powerful as “Shambleau”, there are still some dark and disturbing implications in “Black Thirst”.  First there’s the there’s the whole aspect of selling women.  While Moore downplays it and makes it seem like an accepted practice, it’s really nothing more than slavery, and sexual slavery at that.  At least that’s what’s implied when powerful men buy the most beautiful women in the solar system.  Now I’m not saying Moore condones the practice.  She never goes that far.  Instead she states it for what it is, the selling of women by men for their beauty.  Such things have been done for centuries, and in an exotic setting such as this, it’s really more of window dressing than anything else.

Where Moore appears be placing her emphasis is on the destruction of beauty.  The Alendar, and by extension the men who buy women from him, are using women for the purpose of consuming and destroying their beauty.  The women are used to feed, the Alendar’s life force and the men’s egos.

Is Moore saying that men destroy women for their beauty, that beauty is another commodity bought, sold, and consumed in a man’s world?  I don’t know for sure, and like I said in the previous installment of this series, I don’t want to read too much amateur psycho-babble into the fiction.  It’s an interesting thought, though.  She certainly seems to be.

In her introduction to the Lancer edition of Fury, a novel she wrote with her husband Henry Kuttner, she talks about the themes that appear in an author’s work that the author isn’t consciously aware of at the time of writing.  Hers, she writes, is “The most treacherous thing in life is love.”  That’s another interesting thought.

In the two stories we’ve examined so far, love (or something associated with the sexual and/or romantic aspect of it) is presented as destructive and dark, twisted rather nurturing, and incredibly trecherous.  Keep in mind, at this time Moore was unmarried.  I know nothing about her personal life during this period, but I have to wonder.  Had this attractive young woman been burned in a relationship?  Had she witnessed friends or family members have their beauty consumed by a relationship?  I don’t expect to ever find out. Such a thing would seem to be consistent with the Northwest Smith stories so far.  But whether this interpretation is a sound one is a question I’ll leave to the professional literary scholars.

Blogging Northwest Smith: Shambleau

“Shambleau” is the first of the Northwest Smith adventures, and the first published story by C. L. Moore.  According to Lester del Rey, in his introduction to The Best of C. L. Moore (1975), she had been writing for 15 years before she submitted anything for publication.  I’d like to know where he got that information, but I’m not questioning it.  Since he’d known Moore personally for decades, I’m inclined to believe him.  Of course, what I’d like even more is to get my hands on some of those unpublished stories.  I suspect they’ve long since ceased to exist.

I don’t remember if “Shambleau” was the first story I read by C. L. Moore, but it certainly made the strongest impact on me.  Here’s a synopsis of what happens (spoiler alert):

A young woman is being chased by a mob down a street in a spaceport town on Mars.  The mob is closing in on her when she runs into Northwest Smith, a notorious criminal.  He intervenes on her behalf to the bafflement of the crowd.  Smith takes her back to his room, tells her she’s welcome to stay for the few days until he gives up the room and leaves.  This girl isn’t human, and Smith doesn’t recognize her race.  She’s dressed only in a shift and a turban.  Smith assumes she’s bald.  He realizes later she’s not when he sees her tuck what he thinks is a lock of hair under her turban.  He’s sure he saw the lock move on its own.  But he must be mistaken…

While Moore points out that sexual temptations don’t have much hold on Smith, he does find her attractive enough to make advances.  At least until he takes in his arms, at which point he finds her repulsive.  He doesn’t really understand why that is, only that the repulsion he feels is almost primal in nature.

Smith is in town setting up some type of criminal venture.  We’re not ever told what.  Over the next few days, Smith experiences a back and forth attraction and repulsion.  He struggles with it, but ultimately he succumbs.  Only when Smith’s partner Yarol shows up does Smith have a chance of escape, and even then it’s not easy.

Moore is playing with the concept of a gorgon, and goes so far as to state that the ancient Greeks had some knowledge of the Shambleau, which is the name of the race rather than of the girl.  She even takes her resolution from that myth.

One of the things that’s so interesting about this story is that for all its length (~30 pages), not much actually happens.  Other than the initial confrontation, which takes less than 5 pages, and Yarol’s rescue of Smith and the conversation that follows, about half of the story revolves around the Shambleau’s seduction of Smith.  Yet Moore’s prose is so rich that you hardly notice that that many pages have passed.

Caedmon Records recording of “Shambleau”

And it’s the seduction that is the heart and soul of the story.  Moore makes it very clear that Smith’s fall into the Shambelau’s clutches is a very bad thing, but she also makes it clear that it’s also an intensely pleasurable thing.  And it’s described as the Shambleau caressing and touching Smith’s soul more than his body.  It’s how she feeds, essentially a type of psychic vampire.

Moore also stresses Smith’s internal conflict, attracted by the pleasure and repulsed by the unnaturalness of it.  It’s a struggle he ultimately loses, giving in to the temptation while the whole time being repulsed by his actions.  It’s a struggle that on some level most people can probably relate to.  The desire for something that you know is wrong or harmful, the momentary pleasure of something that will ultimately destroy you.

The imagery is definitely sexual in nature.  While tame by today’s standards, I suspect this was pretty potent stuff back then.  It was certainly powerful to the teenage boy I was when I first read it.  Awash as I was in hormones, this story had a major impact on me.  It was almost like Moore was reading my mind at times as I struggled to understand and contain the natural changes I was undergoing and the accompanying urges.  And while the emotional impact when I reread the story the other night wasn’t nearly that intense, echoes were still there.

The reason “Shambleau” had such an impact on me, and why its popularity and acclaim has endured for over 75 years, is simple.  What Moore deals with here, as I mentioned in a previous paragraph, is something that most people can relate to on some level.  She’s dealing with what it means to be human, what it means to struggle with what’s right and what’s convenient.  Unlike many writers obsessed with their own self-importance, she does it by telling a compelling story, and telling it well.right up to the end.

Much has been made of Moore’s introduction of emotion and sexuality into the science fiction and fantasy fields in the 1930s.  I’m not going to rehash that here.  I have neither the time nor the patience for the literature search.  And I’m certainly not going to get into amateur psychoanalysis, a la L. Sprague de Camp with Robert E. Howard, and try to interpret Moore’s emotional and mental state.  I have too much respect for her to ever do that.

One last bit of trivia.  At one point in the story, Smith hums the tune of a song, “The Green Hills of Earth.”  Robert Heinlein has gone on record saying this was the inspiration of his classic story by that name.

C. L. Moore Turns 102

Catherine Lucille Moore was born on this day in 1911.  She was one of the greatest fantasy and science fiction authors to work in the field.  That’s the oldest picture of her I could find.  I saw a photo of her when I was in college that was (I think) taken shortly before her death.  She was sitting on the steps of a back porch, and the photo was shot from what I would consider an intermediate distance.  If anyone is familiar with the picture and knows where I can get a copy, I would appreciate your letting me know.

I wrote a tribute last year and a belated tribute the  year before, so I wanted to do something different this year.  So after giving some basic facts, I’ll tell you what I have in mind.

First, the facts.  Moore was working in an Indiana bank when she published her first story.  The legend is that she wrote on a company typewriter after hours while working late.  Legend also has it that Weird Tales editor Farnsworth Wright was so impressed by it that he closed the offices for the rest of the day.  I don’t  know for sure if either event actually happened that way, but if they didn’t, they should have.  Moore went on to write some quite successful science fiction on her own before marrying fellow science fiction writer Henry Kuttner, probably my all time favorite author for at least three days of every week.  After Kuttner died in 1958, Moore left the field.  She remarried, and again legend has it, her new husband didn’t want her writing science fiction.  Also again, I don’t know if that’s true.  By this time she was writing for television, which paid considerably better.

She left quite a legacy, both on her own and with her husband.  I’m going to take a closer look at that legacy this year.  Again both her individual legacy and the one she shares with Kuttner.  I’ve got a lot on my plate, and I can see I’ll need something to act as a sanity check.

For quite some time now I’ve been intending to take a closer look at her two signature series, Jirel of Joiry and Northwest Smith.  Jirel was one of the first, if not the very first, sword and sorcery heroine who could swing a blade as well as any man.  Northwest Smith was been called the prototype for Han Solo.  I’ll deal with that in an upcoming post.

I’ve decided to start with the Northwest Smith stories (although I will cover the Jirel tales as well).  They’re set in outer space, but they have strong fantasy elements, so I’m going to post the essays about them here rather than on Futures Past and Present.  I intend to post the first one in the next day or so.  Stick around.  It’s been nearly 30 years since I read most of them, but images from some of the stories are still clear in my mind.  They left quite a mark on a very impressionable young teenager.  We’ll see how well they hold up to middle aged scrutiny.

One Hundred Seven Years Ago Today…

…Robert E. Howard was born.  While his popularity has waxed and waned over the years since his premature death, his legacy has endured.  Right now, we’re seeing a boom in Howard’s works and in Howardian studies.  Maybe soon he’ll take his proper place in the canon of great writers of the early 20th century.  We can hope.

But whether that happens in the near future, the far future, or not at all, one thing is certain.  We shall not see his like again.  While he’s had many imitators over the years, none have matched the power of his writings, the lyricism of his poetry, or the (sometimes) bleakness of his world view.  He helped define a genre, something few men or women can boast.  As long as there are people who love a good adventure with depth as well as action, he will endure.

So raise a glass with me and toast the birth of Robert E. Howard.